


From Death

by Shepard_Shakedown



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Origin Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-07 21:28:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20824070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shepard_Shakedown/pseuds/Shepard_Shakedown
Summary: The wardens gave her purpose and from death she made a way forward.





	From Death

From death.

There was a certain horror to the sickness. The way it crawled under your skin. The way it demanded your attention. The way it climbed into your thoughts echoing in a way that was familiar and unnerving. It was like inviting a wild bear into your home, like asking it to stay. Suicidal and strange. 

The bear would kill her eventually. But for now, it could stay.

She hadn’t chosen to be blighted. It had been chosen for her. Years and years of telling Rica  _ anything to survive _ coming back to bite her in the ass. As if becoming a warden wouldn’t add their problems. As if joining was an easy choice. As if it wasn’t the same as joining the legion of the dead. But… Rica didn’t need her protection anymore. If anything she needed her gone. If Duncan was right and there was a blight coming She’d be fine. Orzammar was safest when the darkspawn swarmed the surface. 

She didn’t know what he saw in her. But it had to have been something beyond the scraps and that poor excuse of proving. Nobles, always all high and mighty about their skills over the casteless. But she hadn’t been trying. Even without the formal training they had, even playing by their rules she’d won and she hadn’t broken a sweat. She’d learned everything the hard way. You win or you die. Maybe that was the difference Duncan saw. There was no room for error when dealing with the blight. 

There was no sweet goodbye, no gentle words that could ease the worry written on Rica’s face. So she hadn’t bothered. 

“Mourn me for I am dead, bound to the stone and the fight. Do not beg my return, let my ghost sleep and my blade sing past the end.”

Rica’s eyes watered. “Figures, out of all the poems Beraht had me learn, you’d remember that one.”

“Goodbye, Rica.”

She didn’t hate being a warden. She didn’t hate the sickness beneath her skin. In a way, her  _ death _ had given her more purpose than her life ever had. 

"That  _ thing _ you said at your joining." Alistair skirted around the question waiting until it was apparent she had no intention of speaking. "It sounded very wardeny and old wardeny too."

"It's not." He perked up visibly. He was like a puppy… 

She frowned. "It's a legion poem. My sister hated it."

"Ah, makes sense. The legion are pretty grim folk."

"Less so than you'd think." She'd only seen them twice as a child, recruiting when their numbers dwindled enough. They'd advocated to take the casteless both times but the nobles had thrown a fit. She'd heard rumors that if a casteless could find them in the deeproads they'd take them anyway. The legion didn't care. 

"To my lover, my family, my friends,

Mourn me for I am dead, bound to the stone and the fight,

Do not beg my return, let my ghost sleep and my blade sing past the end,

For when the ancestors greet me, I cannot follow them down,

For while my duty and my honor lie in stone, I cannot rest."

He nodded. "It's very legion of the dead like. Kind of grim actually. Aren't you a ray of sunshine."

She snorted a laugh. "Did you not realize?" She shook her head. "You are enough sunshine for both of us, I think."

The nickname stuck all but replacing her name.  _ Sunshine, watch your back. Sunshine, your dog bit me. Sunshine, pass the mead. Sunshine, thank you, really, for everything. _

She was used to the complaints, but gratitude? Gratitude was foreign to her. Real friendship, real camaraderie was strange. But not unwelcome.

And while she longed for the song that rang through the stone, the surface wasn't too bad either. It was the surface that had freed her from her brand and made her a warden. It was the surface that taught her mercy. 

"Are you sure?" Alistair balked at the crow. "I mean he tried..."

"To kill me?" She rolled her eyes. He's not the first to try. "My best friend back home tried a few times. Never succeeded." But then he'd also been an incompetent fool and a carta scav. He'd betray anything if it would get him somewhere. The crow was different. He wanted to die. 

"Well I for one would like to live. If my vote counts for anything?"

"It doesn't." Alistair hissed.

"Liar." 

Zevran flinched at her words. "I…"

"You're a liar. I used to wear that look in my eyes too." She knelt in front of him. "Living with your mistakes is harder than dying with them. So make a choice, Zevran." She stood offering him a hand. 

He could have refused. But he didn't. In a way, Zevran was the same as her. He was wanting. Wanting purpose, wanting freedom, wanting to fight, wanting to hope. 

"You know I was expecting you two to be different." It wasn't unusual to hear Zevran's chatter over dinner but this wasn't his usual flirting. "Logain painted quite the ruthless picture."

"I think we've established Logain is a manipulative bastard." Alistair rolled his eyes.

"Yes, well... It's come to my attention that I never properly thanked you." There was a strained edge to his voice Alistair wouldn't pick up on. "With you running off to be the king and my love…"

"You're afraid." She murmured. 

He flinched. "What? Me? Who do you…?" He frowned before letting out a sigh. "Maybe you do know me too well. Yes. I'm afraid. There's no guarantee sir what's his name will be able to kill the archdemon. If you die…"

"I've taken measures."

"No, you forced  _ me  _ to take measures." Alistair grumbled. 

"You're family to me, Alistair. I wasn't going to risk either of our deaths. Even if it means some weird blood ritual." She snapped. 

"And sending me to be king after? Was that…?"

"We both know Anora will follow in the footsteps of her father." She shook her head. "the alienage isn't far off from where I grew up. It's not as rigid but the same threats, the same desperation is there. I trust your abilities, Alistair. I trust you won't let those streets run red."

"And if Morrigan tries anything," Zevran added with his usual flourish. "I'm always happy to help."


End file.
